Family Matters
by thatwasenough
Summary: All of the children (and grand-children, and great-grand-children) of Godric have survived one great crisis facing vampire-kind... but it seems to have only been the dress rehearsal. At least they've got one another. Death, sex, mayhem, lies, betrayal, forgiveness, the past and the future collide into one (probably very long) ambitious romp.
1. Chapter 1

A silvery mist oozed slowly over the grounds of the estate. The morose, silent guardians of this garden were lit only by the peculiar light of the quarter-moon, hazily and forlornly rising in the night sky. It was unusually dark for this time of year, as the stars that normally blanketed the atmosphere lay hidden behind dense, fast-moving clouds. Vague shadows danced across the surfaces of mischievous nymphs immortalized in white marble, and the randomly errant leaves found amongst the platoon of spherical topiaries reacted with a shiver to a steady but reluctant breeze.

This evening could not yet comprehend its own depth, its own magnitude, and so it seemed, at least at these particular coordinates, all was relatively still and calm. But then, the night had been young some hours earlier, and how quickly did dawn approach..

A rustling emanated from the copse of somewhat anachronistic palm trees at the edge of the ancient property, and then a great whoosh filled the air.

The family was home, after decades away. They came from the sky, bringing wind all their own.

The father, a small man who resembled a teenager but who moved with the grace of an angel. Patience was etched across his otherwise ageless face, and dark tattoos creeping up the neckline of Godric's half-open gray linen shirt belied how ancient his existence had been. Gray soulfully sad eyes took this in, this place he'd often called his home, relatively unchanged after nearly four hundred years of ownership.

The firstborn, a tall, lithe warrior and bester of lesser men, with a strong jaw and blue chips of Arctic ice for eyes. He moved like a rumble deep from within the earth, yet a placid, amused smirk overlay over Eric's Nordic features as the estate came into full view. He glanced at his father, and then over his left shoulder in time to see his sister arrive.

The daughter, taller than her father, smaller than her brother, and somehow striking an elegant balance between them. Adopting a demure posture that fit her poorly, Nora looked to them, a slight crinkle in her brow as she landed effortlessly on the dew-strewn grass, a smile spreading across her face as she too felt enveloped in fond memories.

All three turned their faces upward, to watch as the rest of their party arrived.

The eldest, a lean woman with a beautiful if world-weary countenance, a steely-eyed gaze fixed firmly behind her even as combat-boot-clad feet hit the grass soundlessly. Pam scanned the sky for the last two in their party, the last two who should have been mere seconds behind her, a hand on her hip imitating irritation meant to mask her worry.

The baby, a pretty young woman whose fangs never seemed to fully retract, and who barely contained her childlike-mirth at finally being able to fly on her own. Willa drank in the grounds with her eyes as she hit the grass absent the grace of her aunt or her sister, rolling an ankle and swearing quietly. Her mutters, and the slight crack of an ankle fitting itself back into place, broke the undisturbed quiet on the property.

And all five vampires turned to watch the last of their number descend.

For here was the shadow, the quiet ferocity of a young vampire who confused all who met her, vampire and human alike. The ebony vision in the moonlight evinced many of the characteristics of her vampire lineage with a smooth and easy posture: the attitude and ferocious dedication of Pam, her maker; the quick-witted intellect of her aunt Nora; the fierce environmental instincts of her grandfather Eric; the wisdom and, dare one even think it, humanity of the patriarch of their clan, Godric. Even the younger Willa's undisguised wonder and excitement at being dead yet so alive had imprinted itself somewhat on Tara.

But she was their pride. Even as she came down from the sky, a messianic glow seemed to frame her body. It helped to land with the moonlight at your back, but still, the effect was breathtaking. Godric wondered to himself how he would have the conversation he knew he must with his great-granddaughter, wondered how he could break up the joy of this night, of this triumphant return home, with news of such a dismal and serious nature. Once Tara had landed, and his children had clustered around him and one another, the joy and satisfaction on their faces was such that he knew he must wait. He could not wait long, but they could have this night, this first night with each other. This first night without the threat of the True Death hanging over all the heads.

"My family, welcome, and welcome back, to Farthing-End. Let us go inside." He spoke quietly, as he always seemed to, but the power that rolled off his body in waves amplified his voice to a bone-rattling boom that shook his progeny and grand-progeny to their cores. The group made their way towards the main house, chattering exhaustedly, for the most part relieved and ready for some light reveling and rest.

* * *

"It has been too long, Father." Eric raised a glass as they all stood around the enormous but cozy wood-paneled den, a fire blazing in the vast fireplace, large enough to house a compact car. "To Godric, may your wisdom hold our family together for centuries to come." His sister and progeny followed his lead, murmuring the words "To Godric" into glasses of dense dark red liquid. Their father stood directly in front of the magnificent stone mantle, staring absently into the controlled inferno framed in white, until he realized that someone had said his name. He turned, quickly, seeing his whole lineage aglow with tired ecstasy, the flames dancing in their eyes as they looked contentedly at their progenitor.

"Oh, my wonderful children, do not drink to that, nor to me. Drink to yourselves, may all of my bloodline find peace and happiness in this world, as well as in the next." The English translation of the old Gallic saying was not nearly as elegant as it was in his mother tongue, but dwelling on the past was one of the first lessons he'd un-learned after being turned. It was one he struggled with even now, after nearly 2200 years, and it was a struggle he experienced with heart-aching sadness tonight. Watching the unabashed mirth of his children, he was moved, and saddened to know that he must soon dash it to pieces. It pained him, what had happened over these last few months and that he would ruin this joy, and he sunk into an overstuffed Chesterfield chair, the sole furniture to be found in the large room, again lost in his thoughts.

The elders knew to leave him to himself, and sensed that the weight of his millennia were taking quite a toll. The younger followed their leads, and conversations soon began.

Willa and Tara clung to each other like eight-year-old twin sisters, both so new to this world in which they had been forcibly thrust. Occasionally, one would look to the other, smiling without cause, and then their glance would fall to their respective maker. When Willa's eyes fell upon Eric, she seemed to become electrically charged, and then would bound about with a ceaseless energy. Tara was more reserved, but Pam's presence in her eye-line had an effect as well. It was this relationship that Godric regarded with distinct interest.

The way these two got on continued to baffle him. And it had long ago become difficult to baffle Godric. Pam, feeling Tara's gaze, had the most peculiar habit of turning from her languid participation in the conversation between Nora and Eric to acknowledge her progeny's stares of—was that wonderment? fear? lust? or something else, something like… could that be love? But this tentative concession to the bond that they shared lasted no more than a few seconds before Pam would intentionally turn her back to her child, as though trying to block or stamp out the emotions surging between the two women. Pam was always something of a project when it came to the expression of intimacy. But her grandfather could take great heart, for her progeny was more than capable of picking up the slack left in the wake of Eric's failed attempts. And who could blame him for failing, as emotional evolution came not much easier to him.

After four or five such exchanges, and some quiet, giggling talk between themselves, Tara and Willa eventually merged their conversation with that of "the adults." Godric watched as Tara linked her free arm with that of her maker and lover, and the tension that had been cascading off of Pam since their final departure from Louisiana several hours prior seemed dissipate at Tara's touch, replaced instantly with an annoyed expression that clearly conveyed anything but.

Eric and Nora were discussing the state of his affairs in Louisiana, while Pam, and now Willa and Tara, listened on quietly but intently.

"Listen to me, _broder_. I'm only saying that I see no legitimate reason for you to return."

"You only say that because your concept of home has become… overly fluid. It's not your fault," Eric chuckled as his younger sister cast daggered eyes at him. "But all those years with the Authority really did a number on your priorities. Don't worry, I'm sure _Fader_ still loves you." He grinned widely at the unquantifiable outrage on her face. "But for better or worse, that 'shithole' as you've put it has been my home base for a number of years, and I have a lot of things to tend to—"

"There was a just a war, a regional bloody health crisis that served as an object fucking lesson to all humans everywhere: there is no redemption, nor empathy, nor reason when it comes to our kind. The vampires are to be feared, indiscriminately. And if that weren't bloody enough, they've got to learn to coexist with predators for whom they are food, because now they know that on a certain level, they need us as we need them. And we've shown them just how vicious and without remorse we can be." Nora needlessly sighed, and did her best to draw back some of the exasperation in her voice. She'd been in such a good mood, so glad to be back at her favorite of their family homes, until Eric ruined it with a casual mention of his intention to return to Shreveport. "The fact that we've won does not mean that everything can return to normal. In fact, it means exactly the opposite."

Pam broke in, perhaps characteristically, though a departure from her attitude of the past few days. She'd grown quiet and observant, and Godric noticed, still teemed with worry and fear for the family she'd grown to accept and maybe even cherish. Especially Tara. He understood, and shared that fear for what might yet become of his furthest living descendant.

"Eric, listen to her. No one is less enthusiastic about change than me—" at which Tara and Eric both barely held back identical snorts of obvious amusement—", **BUT** Lady Poppins is makin' a good point. Why should we go back? Yeah, we saved all those fucking humans. But their instinct is to wipe us out, however they can. They needed our help against our kind, so it's only logical that they're thinking to wipe us all out. And there's older and stronger and more pissed off vampires than us who've begun to take notice."

Willa chimed in. "Older?"

Pam kept going, trying to check down the tongue-lashing she so wanted to deliver to her baby sister. "If we keep fucking around, we're going to get a real war. Not some bullshit epidemic, neither." Nora broke in. "All-out conflict, with the humans. The sort that won't stop until one of our two species is extinct."

Tara spoke in subdued support, but her voice rang clear through the sparsely-furnished room, echoing with the weight of truth. "And an actual war with the humans will lead to clashes among vampires." She looked to her maker, hoping that she'd surmised correctly. She was rewarded by Pam's curt nod, and she continued. "It's got to be brewin' even now, especially once people figure out that it was our line that dismantled the Authority and created this whole fucking nightmare in the first place. And until we figure some kind of plan, I can't really say I'll feel safest in the state we just helped burn to the ground."

Nora looked at Pam appreciatively, a rare exchange between the two women. "At least in Farthing-End, we've a safe place, a neutral place, and we can take as much time as we need to reflect, to figure how best to move forward."

Godric spoke just as a hush had fallen over the room. Walking across the room from his chair, he first laid an understanding hand upon Pam's crossed arms, which, he noticed silently to himself, were shivering of out what seemed either a very controlled rage or bare-faced fear. "Nora, Pam, and Tara speak wisely, Eric. But, my children, it has been a long evening of exhausting travel. We should all consider retiring with the satisfaction of a terror behind us. There should be rooms ready for us. Sleep well."

The group slowly dispersed, deep in thought. "Pam, a moment, if you please."

Surprised, Pam's hand, which had slipped thoughtlessly into her lover-progeny's, went rigid. She reclaimed her arm from Tara and crossed both across her chest, again reflecting an emotionally defensive posture.

"Your child may stay with us, this concerns her," he murmured, lost again in the thoughts that seemed to consume him of late. He'd wanted to give them the day, but this could not wait, no matter how much he wished for it to do so. Tara stopped walking towards the archway leading to the massive staircase at her dropped hand. Both she and Pam noticed the sadness on her grand-maker's face, and wondered at it.

* * *

The somewhat unlikely trio found themselves in the kitchen. A bowl of waxen fruit marred the otherwise perfectly white stone island, a motif that seemed to characterize the manor in which they sought refuge.

Godric, Pam, and Tara sat around the bowl, each contemplating the situation in their own way. Pam considered how tired she'd become after months and months of endless intrigue and exhaustion and fear. She'd lived in a state of regular terror for the safety of what she'd begrudgingly come to think of as her family. Tara silently mused over the events that had brought their little "rag-tag band of fuck-ups" together, recalling the same memories that fatigued her maker, but with a measure of studied curiosity. Though they'd all faced the True Death numerous time in the past year and a half, something about it, that level of togetherness that strife had brought out of these people she thought of with warmth and affection, was interesting, peculiar even. They'd become more than related through blood. They'd risked their lives for one another, over and over again. They'd become family.

The youthful ageless vampire who was the source of their powerful blood seemed to buzz. With anxiety, excitement, or satisfaction at having survived, neither woman could tell.

"You two are… remarkable. For a pair as opposite in appearance and demeanor, you complement one another in ways that are… unimaginable." Godric seemed to choose his words carefully, to evoke the respect that he had for his offspring. "Pamela, you have proven far wiser than I would have guessed." Seeing her right eyebrow begin its lightening-fast arch of indignation, he quickly added, "I was glad to be wrong. I _rejoice_ in my mistaken judgments of you. Hold onto wisdom. And to your progeny, who has shown herself to be one of the most instinctual warriors I've ever had a chance to know."

Tara decided that the pace of this was going to try her patience in ways that their somewhat comfortable silence had not. "Look, Godric, this is the first time in months we had a bed to look forward to, so maybe we could…"

"Oh, of course, my child. But it is key to what I must say that your maker understand how much more respect I have for her. I realized that I don't talk to my children's children much, and that also is a mistake. It is folly to abandon your blood. Folly of which we are all guilty."

At this, Pam fidgeted as the realization sunk in that, yes, Godric was boring that sea-gray eyes into hers.

"Oh, yes. We are here, as we must be, to speak of Pam's firstborn."

* * *

Out of a curious show of deference to her maker's wishes, and a downright ordinary refusal to discuss what seemed like painful memories, Pam and Tara had never really spoken of her first time turning a human into a vampire. Pam had mentioned to Sookie and Lafayette that it hadn't "gone especially well," but that was less helpful than if she'd never mentioned it at all. On the night about eighteen months ago when her cousin had revealed this scandalous secret, Tara was determined to use whatever newfound vampiric means of subterfuge and deceit she'd developed to get answers on the matter of her maker's other child, her sibling.

It had gone absolutely nowhere.

It didn't help of course, that all-out chaos had broken out all over the world at precisely the moment she'd begun her search for clues about her long-lost brother or sister. She'd frequently thought about even that dilemma of non-information; she didn't even know whether it was a man or a woman that she sought. She liked to guess that Pam would have wanted a woman, as she seemed to for much of her human and vampire life. But also, a part of her reasoned, she had good reason to feel special when Pam's warmth would flood her end of their connection, that unquantifiable energy that linked the two of them in ways it would take lifetimes to fully discover. So maybe it was some dude, and she needn't be…jealous seemed the best way to describe the emotions coursing through her as she imagine Pam, her Pamela, sinking fang into some other dark-skinned chick.

Once, she'd not been as careful as she should have, and let a bit of her frustration and jealously and hurt touch their maker-progeny bond, and Pam, who'd been lying next to her after a particular frenetic bout of fearsome and life-defying sex, turned over a shoulder slick with sweat to face her child. "Gahh?!" her maker snapped, breaking the post-coital bliss that threatened to envelop them as dawn approached. "What was that? You just woke me up…Tara!?"

For a moment, Tara had forgotten how clued into her senses and feelings Pam could be. "It's no big thang," she muttered, almost whispering, hoping that Pam would just—

"'No big thang' is bullshit. It's you trying to lie to me. We've talked about this…Tara, I swear, don't make me say it."

"Why don't you just give me a damn break!? You always have these expectations for me, all these rules about how I gotta be honest with you. Well, I want to know about my—"

Pam stopped her abruptly, with a finger to Tara's full lips, currently curled into a scowl absent any feeling, a heartbroken but deadly look on her own face. "You and I won't EVER speak of that. Not unless we absolutely have to, and fuck me, but that day IS. NOT. TODAY." The last three words came out on the crest of a low growl, ever so slight, that tinged her otherwise even, calm voice.

Tara had resented the ever-loving shit out of her maker that morning, and had turned over petulantly, ignoring Pam's repeated attempts to caress her back and fuck the argument into the past.

They'd been living through tense circumstances. The Hep-V outbreak and resulting pandemic required the formation of a most tentative of outright alliances, between the American government and several vastly old vampire bloodlines. One of the nastier jobs involved an extermination of all infected vampires, a task that had fallen primarily to Godric's family.

The existence of the undead since Governor Burrell's introduction of the disease to vampire-kind had been fraught, to say the least. On more than one occasion, Eric and Godric could be overheard in hushed Old Swedish, their conversations speckled with words like "Nuremberg," "Auschwitz," and "Mengele." Their association of this current crisis with the atrocities of World War II had not escaped the others, particularly Tara, whose impressionability seemed higher than anyone's. Everything about life was precarious and temporary now, and while she'd decided to respect her maker's wishes at the time (because fighting got her nowhere), Tara was consumed by the sense that the one thing they especially had no time for was dishonesty.

So, Pam shutting her out on this issue was something she'd allowed to sit on the back burner for quite long enough, and she drank in Godric's eyes as he turned from Pam, and addressed her directly, seemingly with Pam's bitterly resigned permission. They all knew that whatever was coming was serious, and so Godric was going to speak whether she gave her consent or not.

* * *

"Tara, as you may already be aware, you are not Pam's first child."

"Yup," she said darkly. "I know, but that's ALL I know." She aimed a pointed glare at her maker, only to feel slight chastisement as she noticed how Pam's shoulders sagged slightly.

"Well, what you don't know is that we've got to find—"

"Wait." Pam spoke suddenly, her voice softer and an octave higher than usual. "Wait. It can't be that someone else tells this story for me. I don't know what the hell you're talking about _finding_ anybody for, but let me at least explain this to her." The smallest hint of pleading was in her voice, and so, Godric relented. He knew that it would better this way, giving the two women a chance to commune before their worlds were turned upside down.

"Tara." Her progeny avoided her gaze. "Tara Mae, check down that attitude right the fuck—" "I can fucking hear you, alright? Feel free to start being honest at any damn second."

Pam sighed, irritated but mostly weary. "Fine. A long time ago, before you even born as a human, I did something that I've, well, regretted, I guess. I let myself—" At this, she hung her head. "I got stuck in a bad situation, and it got all fucked up."

"It was the mid–70s. Eric and I had were doing a favor for this asshole, King Mercury of California. We were lookin' for some fucktard named Binkerton…"

* * *

The memory was vivid to Pam as though it had taken place the day before. Sometimes she still dreamed of it, and this was one of many reasons why she'd always been so guarded with her end of the bond with Tara. _She cannot know_, a small voice always seemed to whisper inside her.

Mercury had summoned the pair of vampires to his gaudy Los Angelese manor one day with a request. He wanted to use Pam and Eric's "special skills" to track down a _dispatcher_ he sometimes used, a vampire hired to take out the more unruly and unbending of Mercury's subjects. Their presence in the state was as his guests, but he was calling in the inevitable favor.

As they'd stood before his unnecessarily gilded throne, surrounded on all sides by his sycophants and blood whores, he'd promised them $150K for the the execution of one Harold Binkerton. "The fool has refused to comply with a mandated sentence. He killed one of my court in a brawl, and so was ordered by the good Magister—" At this, he gestured absently and without even a shred of reverence to the fetid little man off to his left, inattentively slurping down a young girl who looked barely seventeen. "—to create a new vampire life. And yet I have no baby vamps, suckling at the teat. Just the regular old group of slags and hangers-on." He'd let out a mirthless chuckle at this.

Eric and Pam, who held matching black motorcycle helmets behind leather-clad backs, glanced at one another, both wondering at the perverse dynamic between Mercury and his court. Electing not to comment, Eric assented to the King's terms and the two left immediately to search for the perpetrator. But upon finding him, their simple kill-order got somewhat more complicated.

They found Binkerton in a seedy warehouse district nearby an underground vamp club that seemed to masquerade as a condemned meat processing plant. He was sitting in the front seat of a cab, being sucked off by a dark head. _Human_, they both realized with a quick sniff of the air, _and it smells heavenly._ Eric had twisted Binkerton's head clean off in about a quarter of a second, and it took a few moments before his servicer realized that his charge was oozing all over the seat. But he did not scream. In fact, he grinned, seemingly at the realization that he'd finished work a bit earlier than expected.

Instead, he straightened up, grabbed the wallet from the dash, and pulled all of the cash from it, tossing it back and stuffing the wadded bills in his front pocket. Pam smirked at the kid's audacity, as he dabbed a finger or two into Binkerton's goo and rubbed it on his gums. Kicking the passenger door of the cab open, he began to walk off.

"Hey." Eric had called. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere with you, Viking," snickered the skinny, attractive black man without altering his course. He couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and Pam was instantly reminded of the pathetic child sniffling while being drained by the Magister. But no, this human was nothing like that. This one seemed to want someone to answer his unspoken challenge to any and all authority. He seemed to consider something, and stopped, turning back towards the two vampires who'd unknowingly just improved his night. Binkerton had smelled like old shoes.

"If you want what he got, it's $50. If you want to drink me, it's more like $200. And don't fucking glamor me afterwards. I'm not into that shit."

Eric still seemed taken aback that the kid had recognized his considerably diminished accent. The two vampires considered his offer. It was a strict law in California that any human who was fed upon and not glamored must be killed. Mainstreaming was still the order of the day, but this was long before vampires would come out of the coffin, and the last thing the community needed, at least in the minds of the ruling Authority, was exposure. But the kid smelled divine, and this seemed a rather reasonable offer.

But as newcomers to his territory, Mercury opted to have them followed by one of his sycophants. Upon their return to Mercury to collect their reward, they were met instead with rabid snarls, and the kid they'd paid off in chains in a corner of the king's obnoxious throne room. They were informed that their interloping disregard of his laws must be paid in blood. Eric, as the eldest of the pair, would be held responsible: he could either forfeit his own child, or command Pam turn the kid.

It was no option for Eric, but as he looked at Pam holding the squirming and highly unwilling teenager in her arms, fangs bared and poised, she could feel sadness, remorse, and fear for her, and for the life she must now take, careening into her from his end of their bond. His face remained stoic as she lowered her fangs to the boy, who screamed in pain and rage. This was not who he wanted this moment to feel for her, to be for her. But he wanted them both to live to regret it.

Even if it meant an unwilling addition to their family.


	2. Chapter 2

While the tale of his birth is told, far away in the hot sticky heat of a Miami night, a young man stalks the Beach. He searches for dinner, and the scantily-clad young women who push past him on their way to the next club certainly smell appetizing enough. But he's long ago tired of the lack of challenge these humans represent, of accidentally getting drunk or high off the intoxicants in his victims' blood. _His victims_. He sneers at himself, disgusted by what he is, and how he is so driven by the hunger that seeks to consume him.

And then… There it was again. That flutter of gut-wrenching heartache that he felt every so often. It had been nearly two years since it hit him like this, like a sucker-punch to the chest. He keels over, unable to stand the remorse, the self-righteous anger flooding his body, but no one on notices yet another drunk kid, close to passing out on Ocean Drive.

Just when he becomes convinced that he can no longer take the pain of this sensation searing through him, it stops, as suddenly as it began. And the world around him begins to come back into focus, his senses sharpening once more, his status as a predator recalled to his body. He is able once more to smell the heartbeats walking past him. Straightening up slowly, he resumes walking down the street, the feral hunger controlling his steps once more.

* * *

Pam finished her story with a deadened quiet to her voice, her eyes glued to the white stone countertop in front of her. She kept her arms crossed across her chest, almost as if she expected someone to attack her for doing what she had to do. Had she looked up even once during the telling of the story of how her first child came to be, she would have seen the unwilling empathy on Tara's face, and the patient calm on Godric's.

"Eric and I had talked about how 'family' could mean something different, something greater to a vampire. He used to finish with 'But you will only truly understand when you become a maker.' And I always guessed from the way y'all are so reluctant to turn just anybody that it's got something to do with there being a great deal of power in our blood. So I guess I'd always felt...bad for tossing it away." A disgusted look flashed across her face.

"Mercury immediately made me release him once we came out of the ground. I never even found out his name." She finally looked up.

"I didn't want to talk about this because it makes me feel like shit, alright? I..._wasted_ the blood. I've never been religious, but it's like I stepped on the offering plate or something. And I never knew exactly why, but that always...ugh, it hurts. It fucking pisses me off." Pam spat this last part in the direction of her progeny, who continued not to notice the petulance in her maker's accusatory tone, as though it were Tara's fault that they were sitting here.

Godric, ever insightful, did notice. "As it happens, it _is_ because of Tara that we are here to speak. She is more powerful than either of you yet realize, as is her older brother." Turning to his great-grand-progeny, he remarked, quieter, "We do understand that you feel pain, Pam. But you are wrong to assume that it was a waste of the blood. Nor was Tara's… perhaps_unwilling_ transformation. In fact, Tara is the pride of us all, by being so young and yet so incredibly evolved."

Both women looked up, and he smiled. "Yes, it is true. You, Tara, have retained so much more of your human nature than most who are turned. I had noticed how frustrating fact is to your maker, especially since our kind seems ever poised on the brink of violent conflict with humans. But we, sitting here in this cold grey of a too-quickly fading night, will start to solve the problem of war before it is upon us."

At this, Godric seemed suffused with an almost glowing energy, and leapt suddenly from his chair, glad to have gotten the most unpleasant part of this conversation out of the way. "You all don't realize this yet, because, quite simply, you're too young." He began to pace the length of the vast kitchen. "There's so much that you don't realize about yourselves and about our lineage."

"My maker was a cruel sadist, and his nature was all I knew when he died. Well, when I killed him. I'd only ever been acquainted with his nature, and the thirst. Oh, the thirst… it can make you a vicious, remorseless creature, but Tara, and to a lesser extent, her brother, understand that this is not the only way to live with humans. There can be peace, and my family will bring it."

Pam's eyebrows stayed even, with clear effort on her face and in her voice, as she strained to show a modicum of respect. "How can you talk about peace, after what we've just gone through? We allied with the humans, and eradicated a plague that threatened to decimate both our species. And they still told us to get the fuck out and to never come back."

Godric stopped walking, turning his face to gaze at her. "Yes, but did you hear what was behind the admonition? The abject fear?" "Oh of course they're afraid," she retorted. "And why are they afraid, my dear? Because we showed them the worst of them, and the worst of ourselves. But I believe, as I hope you will come to, that there is another way."

He began to pace again, resuming his discourse. "A long time ago, before either of you were born to your human parents, I came across a sacred text of sorts, a kind of elaborate prophecy."

Pam scoffed, almost against her will. Godric stopped again, and stared at her. "My child, you will hear me out. Because I'm old enough to snap you like a twig if you rebuff my words before hearing them." The sudden chill in his voice seemed to startle Pam into acquiescence, and so he continued.

"Eric and Nora do not even yet know of this, because it is vital that you"—at this, he turned to Tara, looking her full in the face—"understand how important you are. This document was a journal of sorts, the musings of a creature many would have called mad. Have either of you ever heard of the prophet John, of Patmos? You would know him by his most famous work, the last book of the Christian Bible, the letter of Revelation."

Tara and Pam glanced at each other, and back at Godric, nodding slowly. "I thought as much. What you probably did not know is that he became a vampire not very long after he wrote those words. His humanity was ripped from him by my maker, as I watched. I was still young then, still learning all I could from the remarkably prescient creature I would eventually kill. He took a savage pleasure in what he did, for even driven as he was by his own sort of bestial derangement, my maker could recognize John's importance. This was long before the formal creation of the Christian church, or even Christian gnosticism, a movement with which he was closely aligned. But my maker was able in some way, though I never got him to admit this, to _sense_ that he'd come across someone consequential. He knew that John was critical to human history, and he delighted in… perverting his significance, in tainting him with the blood, and then abandoning him to his own devices." He stopped, smiling as if to himself. "John was my brother. The only sibling of the blood that I ever had.

"I would only see John of Patmos once more in our lifetimes, nearly 300 years after he was turned. I was not that much older, but he'd never fully learned to adjust to his nature, and he had never had any kind of guide. He was still living in the Aegean, but he'd left Patmos for an even smaller and more remote place, now known as Tilos. He was very weak when I saw him. He hadn't fed for months, and he clearly hoped to die soon. Which infuriated me at the time, but as the centuries have passed, I have come to understand the weariness he bore in what was left of his soul."

* * *

The thick smell of the sea billowed into a much younger Godric's nostrils as he crept up towards the dank cave hidden in the small bay. The moon was large and bright tonight, and the wind from the ocean came swept past him, a peculiar scent confirming that he was on the right path. His maker had been dead for over a century, and as his studied pupil, the small vampire had delighted in ending the cruel beast who had made him what he was. He'd been searching for this fragrance, of dye and old linen, permanently etched into his mind, ever since. He'd been eager to locate his brother, his only other family.

When he did find John, leaning against the opening to the cave facing east, the old man seemed dead. If he had not plunged the wooden staff into their maker's chest himself, and seen what dead _monstrum_ looked like, he would have turned back, believing his journey to have been for naught.

He was quiet as he approached from the south, knowing the wind was in his favor. So it took him by surprise when he heard a voice coming from the gravely old creature, so hewn with age that he seemed a part of the craggy cliffside on which he sat. "I expected you some time ago," croaked his blood-brother in crisp Latin.

"Why?" asked a curious Godric, somewhat out of practice with the tongue. "You remember who I am?"

"Your blood, it calls to me. Or it is the voices. One of them, or all of them, told me that I could not yet die, for my brother must see me before I gaze upon the sun again."

At this, Godric hissed. "The sun! You wish to die?" "I am dead already, my brother. Only death must hide under cover of night."

The puzzling old man was beginning to irritate Godric, who in his relatively newfound independence was just beginning to revel in his power, his magnificent strength, his alarming speed. He'd even recently discovered a confusing ability to fly. It was still difficult for him to understand or control, and so he'd swum to Tilos, not needing to breathe or stop, full and energized by the blood of a small band of thieves that had tried to overtake him on the nearby Kos. He'd heard rumors of an old man living there who was like one unto Death, who had once been called John, and so he was drawn to the tiny rock. Now, standing before that for which he'd searched, he was left decidedly unimpressed.

"Do not think me a fool, my brother. I was ready to die long before I became death, but the loudest of the voices told me that there was yet work to be done, and it is because of that work that you must heed my words. Do you know what writing is?"

"Yes," spat Godric with condescension, "but words are for old fools, too infirm to live. I live by steel, by stone, and by blood." The old man's face creased into a small smile. "The arrogance of youth still lives in you, I fear. But it is no matter. I have something that I must give you. In time you will come to understand…"

"What can you give me greater than power over death?" With this boast, Godric began to float into the air, somewhat unintentionally. The old man was unfazed. "I give you the future, my brother." John moved for the first time, reaching over underneath a rock for a large leather box, bound every which way with several straps of variable width and coloration. "Take it, blood of my blood. The voices have given me so much… more than I wanted to hear, but I have done as I must, and committed it to paper." Godric did not move from his perch in mid-air, in part because he wasn't quite sure how to get down. But he also felt a need to defy this dying _monstrum_, this waste of the power of their blood.

"You cannot get down," wheezed the old man, a weary grin on his face. "What is paper?" Godric asked, curiosity getting the better of his annoyance with his brother's witnessing of his inability to control his power. "This is but one type, made of the bark of what few trees remain on this island, pressed flat over time by stones and pressure from the sea. All men will soon employ this method of storing ideas, of writing. Many will seek to do what I have done, to know what comes and to entrust it to paper for the generations that follow. What I have for you will not be understood right away, and you must not show it to anyone. No one but our blood can understand this."

"There are none else of our blood," Godric declared as he finally began to descend back to the rock-strewn beach. "Nor shall there be. I need none other, for I am a god." "You think this because you, in all your years, have not yet learned to fear. The thing that made us may have been a heinous beast, but you did not even truly fear him. You took advantage of him, and you killed him, yes? Ah. This is as they spake unto me." He began rocking slowly, his eyes shutting as of their own will. "With this, you have confirmed that I have not stayed alive this long in vain. I can die and meet my peace."

He suddenly leapt up. "Take it! Keep it safe. None can know until it is time. The future is too powerful , and you are yet a fool. But you will grow old one day, and maturity will reach you. War is coming, the greatest war that the world will ever know. Our blood will save them—"

Godric laughed in the old man's face, startled though he was by how quickly the aged John had moved. "War is glorious, and the blood of men flows freely when they battle amongst themselves. Why should I hope to save, when to destroy is so filling, so wondrous?" He was suddenly stuck by a blind desire to take the leather box and throw it into the sea. The old man looked at him as though he knew the thought in his brother's mind, and a very different voice came from his mouth. In strong, angry, carrying tones, he said, "You shall heed me! You will one day search for that which you think to throw away. Then, you will find the truth, and the truth of the power in our blood!"

Angry at his prediction, and more than a little startled by the power cresting off of him, Godric grabbed the old man's box, which was bound tightly and felt somewhat hollow in his hands. "Go ahead, my brother. Throw it into the sea. It will wait for you." The tired, creaking voice had returned. "You will one day understand. But, alas, most likely, this morning will not be that time." Instead, Godric dropped it, letting it fall back to the rocks as though he were utterly unconcerned for its fate.

He was growing tired of the prognosticating creature, and felt foolish for seeking him. Again, as if responding to Godric's thoughts, John gave a small, tired smile. "You sought me once, and you shall seek me again. You will be ready for what I have given you then, and you will always remember this night." With this, the old man touched his brother's forehead, a loving if also disappointed gesture, and then resumed his east-ward perch. Quiet overtook the windy morning, breaking far beyond the horizon. "You should retreat inside the cave," John intoned, wheezing. "The sun comes soon, and it comes for me alone."

Those were the last words that John would speak to Godric, as he begrudgingly sped towards the back of the underground chamber, which was deeper and more winding than its small opening belied. There, though bound in the throes of the Sleep, he could hear the dim but distinctly joyous scream of his brother as dawn broached.

"FREEEE!"

* * *

"When I arose that evening, there was nothing left of my brother, just the box that he'd stayed alive long enough to entrust to me. I was still angry and perplexed by my encounter with him, and I threw it to the back of the cave before leaving the island. I did not return until the year 1405. I left Eric to his own devices on Rhodes, and sought out that cave on Tilos, which still had few inhabitants. It was still there, exactly as I had left it. I retrieved the untouched box, an artifact frozen in time. But I was fearful."

"What were you afraid of?" asked Tara, needlessly breathless. The story had completely enraptured her, and she leaned forward, precariously perched on the edge of her stool , while Pam still sat, silent and determinedly still.

Godric smiled sadly. "I was terrified that he had been right, and that the box held the future. That my brother wasn't just an aging, addle-minded vampire. That he would turn out to right about everything. And, if so, I'd spent over a millennium in unnecessary, willful ignorance." He glanced pointedly at Pam. "We are simply too important to be willfully ignorant, my children.

"I have been sifting through the text ever since, translating bits of it as I could. True to his unwitting nickname, 'Mad John' was a fretful and haphazard scribe, writing half a dozen sets of prophecies and predictions in as many tongues, most of which had yet to even be uttered at the time of his demise. But by the time we'd found Nora, about nine years after I'd gone back for the box, I had a relatively complete understanding of the first set of pages, which had been written mostly in Latin and English. And what I understood was that my brother had been a remarkable man, plagued incessantly by visions of what had been, and what was to come."

He began to pace again. "I have always kept the contents, and my work at comprehending them, to myself. Who would believe any of it? Most of my contemporaries…well, as you know, the vast majority of vampires cannot be trusted. So many of us succumbed so long ago to our basest desires, our carnal appetites. Even now, my two children, having lived these past months in more fear than they can even admit to themselves, as they faced the potential destruction of our whole family… well, they will spend the rest of this night, and much of the coming day, fucking themselves into oblivion."

Godric gestured presciently at the ceiling soaring twenty feet over their heads, and the two vampires in front him looked up, as at that precise moment, an aggressive thump sounded against the floor above, followed by a roar of pleasure and peals of aroused laughter. "Fan-fucking-tastic," muttered Pam without looking up, a look of mild disgust on her face.

"Pay them no mind. For now, it is important that _you_ realize the gravity of this. This moment, for this bloodline, is crucial. Now, once I had deciphered some of his premonitions, I was astounded at the truths he'd seen. What I have rendered of his writings tell much of the story of our blood. He'd reached far into the past, as well as far into the future.

"He knew everything of our maker, where he had come from and who made him, which was more than even I, who had spend centuries with him, could have ever hoped to know. He knew that several centuries after our meeting, I would come across and turn a great Northern warrior, saving a master of the snow from the throes of death. He knew that this warrior would later bring a fiercely intelligent upstart to me, who would be given the blood in order to survive a horrible plague, and that she would rise to wield great power in the political world of the _monstrum_, of our kind. He knew of you, Pam, the first child of my first child, a former mistress of the flesh. And he knew of you, Tara, and of your brother. Most remarkable of all, this is revealed in the first set, in the first 35 pages. Much remains to be interpreted, but it's an auspicious start. What is it, my dear?"

Tara frowned slightly, her legs drawing up to her chest, her whole body balanced precariously on the stool.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the fact that we keep callin' him my 'brother'. I've never even met him!" She snuck a peek at Pam, who had a strangely pained expression on her face, eyes still glued to the countertop. "And anyways, isn't there like a rule about knowing the future? You can't tell people, because that screws with their ability to make the decisions that they're going to make, or something like that…" Her voice trailed off as Godric stopped her, slapping his palm to the stone counter, a mad gleam in his eyes.

"Bah! That is human nonsense. We are _eternal_ creatures, for better or for worse. Consider that wisdom given to or gleaned by vampires often is of no consequence. Take the late Sophie-Ann, for example." Pam's sarcastic sneer returned for a moment. "What of our fallen, traitorous queen?" Godric thought for a moment before he replied. "There are some…great and powerful cosmic truths that come to one with age. She understood so much, but let absolutely none of it change her life. This is the distinction. Humans, whether we can admit it or not, are prone to being changed by knowledge, which is why as a species they so often run from it. Sophie-Ann had great knowledge, but remained unevolved. We are _meant_ to change with what we know, to be changed by it. This helps to explain why a wise but immature vampire no longer walks this earth." "Oh? I thought it was because Bill Compton staked her slimy ass." Pam seemed to have awaken from the chastised coma she'd been in for most of Godric's story, her characteristic attitude slipping back into place. "She was a loathsome, spiteful bitch." "You only say that because of the hurt she caused you, because she took advantage of you."

Godric's calm retort hung in the air. Tara stole an utterly bewildered look at her maker, who had been struck dumb with rage and confusion. "How did you—Who told you…?" Pam glared, shocked and furious at the smaller vampire, who regarded her cooly. "Understand, child, that you are but a child to me. And I promise you, I know more of you and your life than you're ready to admit. But let me finish. There is more, and dawn approaches. And there are things you need to understand before then."

He resumed his pacing. "As I've said, all of John's predictions that I've been able to decipher unto this point have come true, which leads me to believe that he was right in his notes of our bloodline's past. But even still, I remained somewhat unconvinced until I met you, Tara. See, though I consider myself to evolved beyond the limitations of our…monstrous condition, I still struggled to believe. But my brother died trying to warn me of what was to come. And that time is upon us.

"He wrote of a plague that affected only the _monstrum_ body, a plague devised by those upon whom we have preyed. He accurately predicted the outbreak of Hep-V, and accurately predicted that our family would align with the humans to eradicate it. He knew that we would help to save them all, and that they would reward us by shunning us, by effectively banishing us from the country where the epidemic was centered. But he also knew that we would have to return, because something worse is coming. He even wrote that I would have to work to convince the firstborn of my firstborn, and her children after her. But you three in particular are all key players in something great that is to come, something wonderful that is the result of so many attempts to do a horrible evil.

"The humans do not trust that we will not return, so as surely as we helped saved their kind and ours, they will come after us. All of our family, yes, but all of our kind. And they shan't be helmed by some fool small-time governor. _All_ of human-kind, caught up by powers and influences they can't and won't understand, will try to rise up against all vampire-kind. They will learn to truly unite, at some cost… but so will we. We, our line, our family, will end the war, hopefully before it ever can truly begin, and save countless lives yet again. We will fight, because I and my children are fighters. There's is no other option for warriors. But we will succeed because of the humanity that Tara and her brother yet retain. There will, of course, be some great costs, and they will seem tremendously high. But, oh, blood of my blood, our reward will be great." Godric stared at his grand- and great-grand-progeny, pride and delight creeping into the seriousness of his tone.

"My children, you shall all walk in the sun again. And it won't be, to borrow your delightful expression, Pamela, because of 'some fucking trippy-ass fairy blood.'"


	3. Chapter 3

**There's been entirely too much time between this update and my last. I apologize and thank those who PM'd me with encouragement (and occasionally, exasperation!); I appreciated and needed all of it. I had originally predicted that this next installment would be really long—upwards of 12,000 words. But then I decided to take some truly great advice and break it up into parts so that I could stay ahead of my self-imposed publishing schedule of a chapter each Sunday. Under-promise, over-deliver, many have said. The plot really begins to pick up after Ch5 or 6, so bear with me for the next few installments: there's a lot to cover! Reviews, commiseration over how just awful season 6 was, etc. are always welcome. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

The early spring morning was beginning to break, and the very tiniest bit of dawn peeked over the tops of far-off clouds, visible through the kitchen's enormous east-facing bay windows. The horizon was fractured in places by grassy hills of varying slopes and shapes. It made for quite the stunning image, even when compared to the scene inside.

Behind enormous industrial-grade anti-ultraviolet windows., the three vampires were motionless, a snapshot of shocked reactions. Apart from the enormous white stone island and military-style elevated stools, the entire room was awash in cabinetry and accents of pale ash, which grabbed and absorbed the light from the fixture above the island. The large, minimal geometric chandelier, sprinkled with several dozen small but bright LED lights, cast the kitchen and its occupants in an eerie glow.

That glow made his piercing gray eyes all the more unnerving as the small male vampire watched the two women seated before him closely, regarding them while trying to contain a great mirth that seemed ready to literally burst forth from his chest. In turn, the women stared at him, and then finally at one another, disbelief and astonishment carved into their beautiful features.

Satisfaction smoothed out his otherwise excited countenance. "I know that some of this may be coming across a bit more jumbled than I would like. But so much of the interconnectedness that we all share is becoming so real to me only recently, and the notion of such phenomenal recompense is just—"

"Absurd?" drawled Pam, torn between a vague sense of fascination and suspicion. She felt a natural distrust of things that appeared more wonderful than could be reasonably expected. And walking in the sun seemed just that wonderful. After the dramatic and bloody escape from the "vamp-camp," there had been an unbelievable hours-long high, and that couldn't have just been from Bill's blood. A huge part of it was the sheer ecstasy she had associated with being able to finally see the day, after one hundred years in darkness. A vampire is meant to thrive in the night. But there was a small piece of humanity left inside Pam, and that shard left over from her human life loved the sun, and craved it in ways she could never admit it aloud. She suspected she wasn't the only vampire who sometimes awoke in the middle of the day, blood tears streaking down her face, from dreams of running around in daylight.

Godric considered Pam's remarks for a moment, and, bemused, his face brightened as he began to pace yet again. "Certainly. 'Absurd' is as good a choice of words as any. So much of this is still a little incomprehensible. So much has been the product of good luck and fortunate timing. It is really quite fortuitous that my maker was such a cold-hearted remorseless thing, for, in biting my brother, he fulfilled a destiny for them both, and for us. John had already made great and powerful portents on behalf of humankind, though most had yet to realize it. Who knew that one creature's greed and savagery could eventually yield powerful portents for vampires?

"Tara's earlier question brings up a good point, though. How much has prophecy ever really affected humans? They have had many occasions to know what awaits them, or at least some highly metaphorical clues as to their future. They have had numerous prophets from every culture, predicting only pain and regret should they continue to decline into wastefulness and faithlessness. And yet, so many, like the Sophie-Anns of our kind, continue to act with unconscionable disregard in the face of insight.

"As I said, for immortals, the weight of decisions is different, more real, its effects felt far longer. In other words, 'forever' is a word with great existential heft. And we must all fight our baser instincts, humans and vampires alike. Wisdom, however gained, can be possessed but have no effect in one's life or outlook. So, in a way, to perceive knowledge, even of the future, as a threat is the product of a fear that we in particular cannot afford to entertain."

"So, basically, our bloodline won't get the luxury of wallowing in ignorance, because it's some kind of human indulgence?" Tara quipped, mild amusement playing up the corners of her mouth. Godric nodded encouragingly, a professor excited by his students' comprehension. "There's simply too much to do, too much at risk. You will soon read John's writings for yourselves, but we are setting out to fulfill a remarkably layered and nuanced prophecy. We are going to fundamentally alter the reality of what it means to be a vampire. It is the next stage of evolution for our species."

Again, at his pause, the kitchen fell silent, but for the muffled noises still emanating from upstairs. Pam shifted slightly, unzipping her close-cut dark leather jacket and stretching long arms over her head in a gesture that conveyed both her exhaustion at a very long night and concern at the implications of what she was hearing. She was still skeptical, and showed it in her expression, but she had clearly noticed that Tara was completely enthralled by the situation that lay before them. _That's fine_, Godric thought to himself with an invisible smile at his grand-progeny. _I just need her to be unwilling to let Tara go off alone. She will come to trust me, and her children, and one day, herself._

"So, now you know. I kept you two back, because you need to know what's at stake. To walk in the sun… This is an enormous moment that our kind, that our family is about to enter. And it requires perspective, as well as a measure of selflessness, and of humility.

"Before I began to unpack John's portents, I did not take my role as a maker very seriously. Granted, it was centuries before I left Eric to his own devices—" At this, Pam's face fell somewhat. "But, understand, that was due largely to my own selfishness. I made him because I was lonely, and he was beautiful in ways that my savagery craved to possess. I wanted to _own_ him, and that was the sentiment that caused me to turn him." Again, he glanced at the ceiling, as another bump punctuated his sentence. "You need not feel guilt or remorse, Pamela. Had you resisted Mercury, you would have certainly been killed. Eric, in his great love for you, would never have let you resist. You mean the world to him, and I think that now, after the fire in Atlanta, you may finally understand how true that is. He would have commanded you if you hadn't turned the boy of your own free will, because he, like you, would never be willing to risk the life of his child."

Pam's eyes had fallen again to the counter-top, hooded and pensive. Atlanta had been just a few weeks prior, and the memory of Eric saving both she and Tara was still rather fresh. "Understand, you will have a chance to relieve yourself of the cross you bear. The relationship between you and Tara has undeniably changed you, as Eric, and later Nora, changed me. The ego takes a bit of a check when you have someone else to care for and to worry about other than yourself. Many vampires have to become makers to learn that we are not the center of the universe. Your children understand this instinctively. This is a great gift…"

Godric trailed off as he glanced at the two women's faces, each evoking a deep fatigue. "You two are probably quite tired. And I've given you quite a bit to digest." "Why aren't you tired?" Tara yawned against her will. Exhaustion often set in after long bouts of air travel, but on this night, she looked more physically and drained than ever. "The older you get, the more you find yourself able to resist the pull of day. Going to ground is still occasionally necessary, but frankly, I can go several weeks without sleep with little effect if I must. But don't worry, my dear, I will sleep today, for I must leave immediately at sunset."

Both women perked up somewhat at this news. "Don't worry. I wouldn't leave you without some contingencies in place. I've arranged for an explanation of some of what I've revealed to you for Eric, Nora, and Willa, as well as instructions for what they will need to do. The most pressing task, as it happens, will be for them to locate the six remaining progeny of Russell Edgington."

Rather predictably, Pam sprang from the stool to her feet, a snarl rumbling from within her chest. Tara hissed from her perch on the edge of the white counter, almost uncontrollably. And the frequent bumps and giggles coming from above their heads even seemed to pause for a moment, giving due respect and disdain to one of the oldest and most viciously sadistic vampires ever to walk the earth.

While it was rare enough for a vampire to see their one-hundredth birthday, it was even more uncommon for one to see its thousandth. Russell, with over three millennia behind him, had been older even than the Guardian and every single Chancellor of the Authority, and his death, the satiation of a centuries-long blood grudge between he and Eric over the fate of his mortal family, had occurred swiftly and was kept under wraps by all who were left of the vampire hierarchy. Very few were privy to the knowledge of who exactly had murdered the sociopathic vampire who'd ripped the still-beating heart from a news anchor's chest on live television. Most cognizant mainstreamers rightly blamed him for the increased discomfort that had become associated with living out of the coffin.

"His children loathe him more than you could ever hope to, I'm afraid. He was a much worse maker than any in my bloodline could understand, and for this small miracle, I am thankful."

"What do you know about them?" asked Tara, who had found some untapped reservoir of energy to feed her questioning, was again sitting at the white island's edge. The blonde vampire next to her had found a center for herself at her child's question, and took her seat, though she positioned herself more closely to Tara in an increasingly common show of maternal affection. The hundred-year old vampire was more worn out than she cared to admit, but the memory of Russell had awoken her protective instincts on behalf of her progeny, and she unconsciously leaned towards Tara, resting her head at the younger vampire's elbow. Godric took note of this. "Quite a bit, but you will come to know all that I do. For now, it's enough that you know that there are six of them, and none of them know of one another. But they are linked to one another, as are all of you, and we'll need to forge alliances with and between them in the near future. Don't worry, you two have tasks of your own. The first of which is to find Pam's firstborn."

Tara's face had expressed a variety of emotions over the course of this early morning talk. She'd been painfully mesmerized by the vulnerability and revelations of her maker, then shocked and intrigued by the unbelievable history and prophecies espoused by the eldest living progenitor of her vampire bloodline. At this news, she seemed utterly devoid of a reaction, as though she'd known this was coming, and was steeling herself in support of her maker. Pam gripped her child's knee in reassurance.

"I'd guessed as much. I knew there had to be a reason you kept mentioning him." Pam's apparent exasperation help to hide her fear somewhat from Tara, and her guarded nature kept those feelings from reaching her progeny's end of their bond. But Tara wasn't fooled much, and interlaced her long fingers with Pam's. Godric recognized in the older woman the same kind of apprehension that kept him away from the Aegean Sea for a thousand years. Hers was the dread of confronting long-lost family, and she was wise to have it. "Yes, well, as you may have guessed, he and Tara figure strongly in John's writings, which I will provide for you and urge you both to study. I've got some ideas about where you might find him, but that and the journals are all information that I will be sure to leave for you before I depart.

"As I said, I must go immediately. There is a small portion of the journals that I have still be unable to decipher, and there is a last resource of interpretation that I must pursue. I suspect that, while what has already been translated provides insight into prospective events, the ordering of the pages of John fulfills a greater purpose. I would like you in particular to examine this, Pamela. Again, don't worry," he said in response to eyebrows that arched toward the ceiling. Leaning back against the cabinets facing the two women, he looked past them at the encroaching sunrise. "There are, as I have mentioned, many contingencies. I believe all will make sense in due time, but it was important to me that I introduce all this to you, and that you take some time to adjust and to accept what lies ahead. You needed to know the stakes, and to hear them from me directly."

The ancient vampire continued to stare out at the landscape beyond the windows. "Blood answers blood. You will help one another, and you will find your son. I would not leave you absent any guidance. You are mine, my blood, my children, my family. You will make us all proud." He walked up to Tara, placing an affectionate kiss on Pam's hand which still rested on her child's knee, and then waved the pair of them off to bed.

As the pair left the kitchen, holding one another as much for support as out of affection, Tara glanced back to take a last look at her cryptic great-grandfather, now sitting cross-legged on the countertop, his face turned toward the sunrise. She thought she saw a blood-red streak running down his face. _The bleeds… So much for being immune to sleepiness_, she thought to herself, as a sudden onset of her proliferating fatigue overtook her ability to walk properly. Grabbing her progeny around the waist just before she partially collapsed, Pam guided Tara to the stairs up to her bedroom, each silently consumed by swirling thoughts at what the future might hold.

* * *

Godric was, in fact, having a rather customary cry. He had helped to design the special windows that adorned this residence to serve the very specific function of allowing him to relive the sunrise. And at each one, he wept, recalling tiny moments from millennia long gone. Memories of rolling hills, of forest ceilings replete twinkling pockets of light peeking out between the leaves as haphazardly as raindrops, and of the sunrise.

He shook his head, as broken images scattered across his mind, recollections from so long ago that he couldn't quite place them. He only had a few more minutes to waste, and then he needed to get going.

The talk with Pam and Tara had gone about as well as he had expected. It was most crucial that he make Tara believe. All night, ever since before they began the journey to Farthing-End, Godric had kept his eye on his grand-progeny. In truth, he'd been watching her closely ever since he'd been introduced to her many months ago. The day they met was just weeks after he'd completed a huge chunk of translation, and knowing what fate has in store for her made their meeting all the more significant to him.

She had carried herself with a remarkable self-awareness even then, in the midst of what seemed an apocalyptic set of circumstances. _And that was before I dropped this piano on both their heads_, thought Godric with a wry smile. Tara, now a survivor of a vampire plague that eradicated nearly 20% of the North American vampire population, still had an almost childlike innocence about her. Her personality danced with her tremendous abilities and created quite the conundrum. Most who met her couldn't appreciate how savage and vicious she could be when cornered, or what a ferociously loyal warrior she was on behalf of her new family.

It was upon that loyalty that Godric's grand plan depended. To bring John's words to pass would require great sacrifice, and sacrifice would be enabled by profound trust. He could only hope that Tara had enough trust in him to do what he must ask of her, and that his sense of Pamela's unwillingness to let her lover run off by herself was not overstated.

Godric had studied Pamela as well, though he had possessed a good deal of familiarity with her long before the Hep V epidemic. John had devoted quite a bit of one particular set of pages to Pam, and Eric had often spoke of his firstborn. But, in the course of studying his brother's journals, Godric found that he'd gained a certain intimate knowledge of the former madame. She made for a most curious study, and her relationship with her progeny was just as peculiar.

So often, the two seemed to absolutely loathe one another, getting into ridiculous, high-octane spats often. But they had also developed a propensity for finding one another, for locating one another's sensitivities, and in finding solace in each other. They'd both had very troubled human lives, and the irony of their pugilistic relationship was that no one was so well equipped to understand either woman as well as the other. In reading and analyzing John's predictions over the years, Godric had become convinced that Tara would be the only one who could enlarge Pam's capacity to believe in much of anything, and in the long run it would be belief that would tie them together indefinitely.

The prophecy was always on his mind, especially as it had become undeniable that John had genuinely seen the future of his family, but Godric had long been comforted by one thing in particular. John had predicted that all of his brother's offspring would find joy in one another, and this is what gave him hope and anticipation as he left the kitchen with a final glance toward the large window and the rising sun. It would probably be many months before he would be able to safely view the sun again, for Lucida, a notoriously reclusive witch, would be much harder to find even than John had been. He would miss this view, and this home, full now as it had never been of his entire bloodline.

He exited the all-white kitchen to a grand windowless atrium, which slowly gave way to an equally magnificent staircase. Like much of the house, it was made of carved white stone, and each step that he climbed felt immovable, an monument to the eternal. Ascending the stairs slowly, Godric savored the feel of his home with all of his line within its walls. He could hear their blood humming to him. This feeling was strange, he could admit, being the elder in a home occupied by his loved ones.

_Loved ones. What sort of vampire have I become?_, he thought to himself, small dimples crinkling the now-dried blood streaks on his face. He did love all of his family, and it gave him great satisfaction to know that he might yet live to see all of them evolved and in love. He had wanted to retire from active vampire politics for some time now, and if he could just get this prophecy business taken care of, he could retreat back here someday, at peace.

Pausing at the second-floor landing, he stopped, remembering that he had tasks of his own. He took a left, rather than continuing upstairs to his own chambers, heading instead for the library. Like the others in the Brobdingnagian estate, this room was large, but unlike so many of the common rooms, there were no windows, but rather soaring shelves upon shelves, holding centuries of knowledge in a vast and priceless book collection. He approached a sparse, simple side table next to the only piece of furniture, the twin of the Chesterfield recliner downstairs. Next to the table on the floor was a leather backpack, with several empty envelopes peeking out from an unzipped front pocket.

He opened the pack, and retrieved a thick folio. He grabbed a dozen leafs or so from the folio, sheets of thin rice paper upon which had been inscribed a great deal of his elegant, small print. Glancing over them quickly, making certain of their contents, Godric placed them in the envelope with the words "Eric & Nora" scrawled on its front. Sealing it, he did the same thing three more times, to envelopes marked "Pamela," "Tara," and another that simply had an address. This last packet he left on the chair's seat, knowing that his dutiful housekeeping staff would see that it was put in the post this morning.

Taking a deep and unnecessary breath to inhale the scent of this, his favorite room in the house, Godric thought about the letter he'd written to his children. It had taken far longer to compose than any of the others, for he knew how his children felt about their father's sometimes ethereal sense of reality. He'd had to reveal enough to convince them to do exactly as he asked, without revealing so much that they might question him to the point of disobedience. Eric and Nora were two vampires whose entire lives had been largely comprised of object lessons in not believing in things like salvation or grand sacrifice, and the epidemic had made them all the more insular and protective of their family. But he was comforted by the fact that each of them had long ago demonstrated that their father did not have to command them to do the very few things that he asked of them. He could only hope that pattern would continue.

Godric chuckled aloud. _Eric and Nora, who have learned to __**obey**__. Perhaps there is hope for all of vampire-kind yet_ There was just one task left to do before retiring for the morning.

Walking over to the bookshelves, he scanned the titles quickly until he found the second edition _Leaves of Grass,_ and ran his finger along its spine, pulling it out from the shelf about two inches. The shelves immediately parted, revealing a massive metal door. The thick steel slid into the wall noiselessly and automatically. Entering his home safe, Godric walked past some of his most beloved treasures, including several scrolls rescued from the ruins of Alexandria and a pair of journals confiscated from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. upon his arrival at the Montgomery Jail. He strode up to a glass display case at the end of the small metal room, opening it to retrieve a thick box, not much larger than a hardback book, covered in dark, aged leather.

This box went into the leather pack, and he glanced around the safe, taking a quick survey before retreating once more to the library. The safe door slid quietly back into place, and the shelves resumed their watchful guard over treasures the world was not yet ready to see.

He headed back towards the staircase, passing it and entering a hallway of sorts. Off to the left were a series of empty bedchambers, as well as as one whose door, left ajar, continued to betray the amorous activities of its occupants, but his destination was on the right.

Three doors down from the landing was the doorway to Pamela's sitting room. Her British heritage had led her to claim a boudoir that included an adjoining seating area when she'd first been introduced to Farthing-End nearly sixty years ago.

Quietly opening the door, he glanced about the room to make sure it was empty. Though she had never spent much time here, Godric had come to recognize the space as being distinctly hers. The furnishings were classic, a minimalist baroque theme and variations on pale pink characterizing the simple but elegant chaise, sofa and scattered tables and lamps.

He carefully laid the pack down on a lengthened divan in the corner immediately by the door, making sure that the letters peeked out visibly from the front pocket. Turning to leave, the last letter clasped in his left hand and the doorknob in his right, Godric went suddenly still. They were still awake, and he could just barely make out the sounds of Pam and Tara's voices from the shower, nearly fifty feet and two rooms away from where he stood.

_My, these two do really love one another_, he thought with a tiny grin before exiting the room, allowing the vampire lovers their privacy.


	4. Chapter 4

004

**I like that it only took one week for me to screw myself over on that would-be publishing schedule that I probably shouldn't have said anything about to anyone. So much for "under-promise, over-deliver." Oh, well, real life happens, you guys all get that. Plus, I like to think that the angst, doubly-long nature of this chapter makes up for me being a few days behind. Reviews, etc. are welcome. Also, I own none of the True Blood characters or the storyline that animates the universe they inhabit, because if I did, season 6 would have sucked way less.**

* * *

Immediately before Godric dropped off his package, there was very little talking. Indeed, Pam felt like she was actively avoiding more words. The conversation in the kitchen had taken its toll, and she felt almost too tired to stand for a much-needed shower. Once they entered the room Tara had offered to help her into the bathroom, despite her own seeping fatigue. Pam, taking a deep heaving sigh, let her know that she would be along in a bit. The elder vampire then took a quiet, unhurried survey of the night's events and, indeed, everything that had happened over the past couple of years.

The minutes lengthened, and Pam continued her languid pontification. At some point, she couldn't be sure exactly when, Tara decided not to wait any longer and started the shower. All the while, her maker sat just outside, silently wondering, worrying at her cuticles with her teeth, steely blue eyes locked on the doorknob. An extraordinarily strict upbringing had long ago broken her out of the habit of biting her nails directly, but her nerves felt totally shot and the illusion of control flooded her body with a welcome sense of relief that, though fleeting, generated the greatest degree of composure she had been able to enjoy for some time. If she was honest, she hadn't felt calm or relaxed since before she created Tara, years before, in fact.

For nearly ten minutes, Pam hovered on the edge of her bed, clad only in a thick white bathrobe, eyes following the rivulets of steamy vapor rising from underneath the slightly ajar bathroom door towards the soaring bedroom ceiling. It had been a nice idea to only be worried about how to deal with the relationship she'd embarked upon with her progeny, for that hour after they'd arrived at Farthing-End had been occupied almost entirely by that problem, and that problem alone. For around sixty minutes, she'd felt secure enough for the first time in years to worry only about what lay ahead for the unlikely pair. Godric had indeed ruined her brief hour of tranquility.

For the moment, she wished only to push the conversation they'd just had with Godric to the back of her mind. Months of reconnaissance, skirmishes with diseased vampires, tense meetings with government officials and military personnel were finally over, but more than anything, she'd been looking forward to taking a little bit of time to simply be still. From the moment they'd opened her sitting room door, she had decided that impending crises would be damned. This morning, even if only for a few more minutes, she would take that time to think about her and Tara's future. Even if it meant making Tara wait.

Stillness was a luxury that none of them could have afforded while the Hep-V situation, codenamed "Operation Worm," persisted. As the epidemic spread, she had occasionally allowed her mind to drift to comforting thoughts of her progeny in the abstract, but in truth she wasn't certain that they would both survive until yesterday, when it seemed as though the bulk of the danger had ceased. Immediately prior to their arrival at the family compound, she had been listening intently to Nora tallying the population losses suffered by vampires because of the outbreak during that fateful final meeting of the Hep-V task force. Nora's position within the somewhat defunct Authority was a large part of the reason that their bloodline was considered such an important ally to the human government, and her knack for keeping track of statistics in her head had proven invaluable on more than one occasion. According to her aunt's calculations, the spread of the disease was such that the average vampire had only a one in five chance of survival. Twenty percent…and this was assuming that the virus did not mutate, which was a potential reality that still had no solution.

In the meeting, as Nora rattled off all of the extenuating provisions that would need to be made in order to keep what was left of the disease at bay, Pam had been struck by how incalculable the odds of the whole family's survival had been, and felt impressed with them all, even annoying-ass Willa, who have gotten herself into and out of more than a few dangerous scrapes. But the six vampires soon discovered the real purpose for the meeting: the humans thanked them for their service to the United States government, and promptly exiled them from the continental US.

Pam's cynical nature had been expecting a move like this, but it seemed to truly take both Nora and Eric by surprise. Tempers flared, and in the end, it was only the calm and steady influence of the eternally restrained Godric that ended the meeting with no bloodshed. As asked, they all immediately departed from Washington and did not stop flying until they reached Farthing-End. The exhaustion they all felt was as much existential as physical, when she thought about it.

She finally stopped nibbling at her fingers, and let pale, slightly muscled arms fall limply to her sides. Bare toes playing with the carpet under her feet, she tried to shake the memory of that early evening meeting, and focused instead on the chorus of the Bob Marley song playing from her progeny's phone, and the low humming coming from the bathroom's sole occupant.

The rich tunes of "Kinky Reggae" flooding her ears, Pam now let her mind drift to how peculiar this relationship was, how perversely dependent she had become upon the vampire she'd originally been so reluctant to make. The blonde was loathe to make attachments, certainly to someone who had been so recently human. But the dark young vampire wasn't just a baby vamp with no control and no conscience. Something had happened to Tara when she was turned. Pam knew she wasn't the only one to notice, but her progeny had willingly left so much behind in favor of her new family. The only holdout was the ever-flamboyant Lafayette, and in truth, he was the least annoying part of Tara's human life, and Pam had even grown to feel a certain affection for him.

Tara was _different_ now, and not just because she was among the walking undead. The power Tara exuded gave the impression of a vampire centuries older than her two years. As a human, Tara had suffered immeasurably at the hands of many, including the vampire who was now her maker. But Operation Worm, and the recognition that her family needed her to be a champion, had awakened something within her. "Power" seemed like deficient terminology. One doesn't wake up into power, but she had come to possess abilities, physical and mental, that continued to astound her observers. Some of that was in the blood, for certainly Godric's line was exceptionally strong among vampires, but that too fell short of a complete explanation. Something in the blood from Pam's veins, blood that flowed in Nora, Eric, and Godric, had combined with a measure of latent strength that Tara had possessed even as a human, and the result was a warrior, a creature of loyalty and fierce tenacity, with abnormally prescient aptitude and awareness that often predicted the actions of others. Her talents on the battlefield and in strategy had even seemed to take Tara by surprise, but she thrived in nearly every situation. Nora had been among the first to notice, and the result was a mentoring relationship. She and Tara had become exceptionally close, as had she and Eric, who noted the strength that rippled off his granddaughter in unrestrained waves and sought to teach her how to control it.

The strangest part of Tara was how much of the adversity and torment she had endured in the course of seeking genuine love. One of the first things that Pam had noticed after she turned the sable-haired beauty was a reversal of this pain, a conversion of that which had damaged her into a refusal to be victimized or timid in the position that Tara held in their relationship. She _demanded_ love from her maker, and ignored Pam's stubborn hesitations. She commanded the adoration and respect that all her family bestowed upon her. She had long since ceased being a passive participant in her own life, ever since her return to Bon Temps after Sookie's reemergence from the fae plane. She had come back to her home town in the throes of a change that seemed to fully actualize once she was turned, and that change, while making Pam eternally proud, also frightened the elder vampire.

She couldn't have said why until this morning. That same ferocity that lived within her progeny, that unwavering commitment to what was best for her family and that moral certitude that drove her, would insist on taking every bit of Godric's story to heart, and there was no question in Pam's mind that Tara would eagerly seek to find her previously-unknown brother. And Pam wanted desperately in this, a rare moment of brutal self-honesty, to pretend that none of it had ever happened, that Godric hadn't dropped an enormous bombshell on them…that she'd never made and then discarded her firstborn child.

Things would be so much simpler if they had only peace to look forward to, but a nagging sensation in her gut told her that this mission would be far from simple, and might even present more challenges than the pair had yet faced. And Pam been looking forward to "simple" ever since the night she returned with Eric to Bon Temps, and sought out her child's forgiveness. It was out of a profound love for her own maker that she'd left Tara in the first place, and, she'd never realized until now, something far stronger that she felt for her progeny that brought them back together. A desire for a life together, which was something she was still not sure that she understood.

_Good grief, I'm worse than a human_, she thought to herself. She wiped at welling tears in her eyes, cleaning her hands off on the inside hem of the robe. _Snap out of it, Pamela. Fear of anything doesn't become you. Even if it's love._ She stood abruptly, deciding to abandon this stupid enforcement of distance between herself and the dark-haired young woman currently humming, in as unironic a fashion as possible, "Could You Be Loved?" They would, she was certain, seek out the long-lost son that she had long ago tried to forget. Tara would go, and of course, Pam would not let her go alone. She felt too much for her now. They would seek him, and there was a part of Pam that was certain they would find him, whether he wanted that or not.

She'd always known that the nameless young man had survived, and though she had released him immediately, a part of her could always sense him. It was never very strong, certainly not pronounced enough to find him, even if that was something she had wanted. But her consciousness of his existence had always persisted, an awareness that the first vampire she had created had not been a bad dream. On more than one occasion, Pam had awakened during the day, feeling something restless and unstable in her end of the maker-progeny bond. And Tara had almost always been there to assure her that everything was fine. But she could only make assurances on her end, and Pam had always let herself be consoled.

Pam grinned a little, in spite of herself. _Tara, the comforter._ The young vampire had been the source of many a smile lately, despite the continuous threat they'd been living under these past months. If she was honest with herself, nearly everything about her progeny brought a degree of amusement to her ordinary saucy but even countenance, from the way she tried to hide the near-constant nervousness that lurked beneath a veneer of calm, to the giggles she was prone to emit when their love-making turned into a tickling contest. Tara enjoyed bringing out Pam's more childish and playful sides, and that someone sought to engage her at every level was a welcome if unnerving change. Such unrestrained joy had never been characteristic for her. Yes, she loved Eric, as he and Nora loved Godric. But whatever this was between she and Tara was definitely different, at least for Pam.

It was difficult to place a finger on exactly why they worked. Tara had preternatural instincts, and Pam had experience and merciless savagery of her own. But ever since she and Pam acknowledged an attraction that was far more than platonic, Tara also seemed to possess a certain emotional maturity that could be downright discomfiting at times. And now, all that was going to be put on the line to follow up on the musings of an insane, blood-starved vampire who died over 1700 years ago.

Shrugging off the robe, she decided that her distracted musings weren't going to keep her away from her shower, or Tara's daunting yet welcome presence, any longer.

* * *

Tara was doing some contemplating of her own. She knew that Pam was trying to tamp down her worry, closing off her end of their bond, but she didn't need insight into her maker's thoughts to figure out that Pam was struggling not to lose it completely. It helped that Tara had gotten very good at noticing when Pam tried to close off her emotions, which was a sure sign that all was not well. Her survival instincts, which had been sharp while she was still human, had amplified considerably once she'd been turned, and it was upon those instincts that she relied when her maker tried to isolate her.

Though she had changed considerably since becoming a vampire, much of her evolution was external. Inside, she was still a raw bundle of nerves, taught and ready to attack. Rarely if ever could anyone other Pam sense this, but yet her maker seemed not to notice sometimes the barely-discernible fear that animated Tara's vicious fighting style and argumentative attitude, though this had waned considerably since their reunion some twenty months prior.

While Pam had been off searching for Eric, Tara had made up her mind that she no longer needed Pam. She'd begun to embrace her vampiric prowess, and, together with Willa, had begun the process of learning how best to channel her frustration and anger into expressions of power. It was during this period that she had incidentally stumbled into her ability to fly, something she shouldn't have been able to do for several more decades at the earliest, and was a feat made the more impressive given that she'd had no one to teach her.

But even then, Tara was aware of affectionate sensations that oozed into her end of the bond she shared with Pam from time to time, evidence that her maker could sense the growing power within her progeny and that she approved of that to which she lent her efforts. For over six months, Tara had waited, hoping in the back of her mind that she would sense Pam nearer to her or that she would summon her. In the course of the little time they'd spent with each other before Pam's departure, it had become clear that the apparent mistreatment and acidity with which they interacted was a mask, evident especially to one another, for burgeoning affection between the two women. It was on this conclusion that Tara depended, even as she told herself that she could survive on her own, and indeed needed to, for her own sake as well as Willa's. The two were a pair unto themselves, both seemingly abandoned with only each other to help them manage in a Hep-V-infested Louisiana.

Her whole life had been an exercise in steeling herself against loss, and Pam, after a truly rocky beginning, had seemed further evidence of that fact. Despite recognizing that her maker did love her, Tara had steeled herself to never see her again. On a certain level, she completely understood why Pam left, and it was made real for her when she looked in her maker's eyes as she asked her to look after Willa. Pissed as she was, Tara recognized, beyond her own heartbreak and sense of betrayal, that it broke Pam's heart that she had no choice in the love she had for Eric, that Pam desperately hoped that if one day she were to go missing, that Tara would feel equally beholden to finding her. And if Tara ever had a child of her own, she knew that she would want her child to be as unwaveringly loyal as Pam was to Eric. But to know her maker's insides as she knew her own was both alluringly intimate and completely terrifying, because she sensed how strong and overpowering that love for Eric was, and how it was appeared to be in constant conflict with what she felt for Tara.

And then there was the fact that Pam's first act after saving her own maker's life and then returning to make up with Tara was to kill Lettie Mae, who had become infected with Hep-V and intended to pass it on to her once-human daughter. While this was an action that was first and foremost born out of Pam's ironic unwillingness to abide competition for Tara's affections, it had never escaped Tara how close she had come to contracting the disease, and that this marked the second time that Pam had saved her life. Such a rocky foundation for a relationship forged in terror, in contention, and in an aggressive need to possess one another seemed wholly insufficient, until the outbreak reached its critical mass and the family line coalesced.

Godric's return from apparent death, a mystery that persisted to this day, had brought them all together. Rather than dwelling on that which no one could explain, each of his children fell in line behind him as he organized them to help the US government contain and eradicate diseased vampires on an insane prowl for blood. The context of potential death became an even more regular part of their lives, and much of the distrust and conflict Pam and Tara had harbored for one another melted away out of sheer necessity.

The gift Pam had given her was life amplified to the highest possible extent, and that was something that she could never forget. The intimacy they shared allowed Tara to throw up a mask of calm when she felt rattled to her bones, and enabled Pam to continue being her acerbic, bitchy self until they were alone. The inability to truly hide from one another made their relationship blossom. Pam would go on to save Tara a number of other times, including a memorable fight of one-on-twelve that had quickly gotten out of control. Pam came through like a hurricane, and decimated those who dared to risk her future with her progeny. For the most pertinent truth, to their relationship and to their positions within the family, was that as vampires of such a bold and powerful lineage, they were not merely built to survive, but to thrive for eternity.

At some point, Tara realized that she'd been humming through several songs without actually listening to them, lost as she was in her thoughts. She'd learned to control how much of herself eked through to Pam, but she had just spent a bit of time letting her mind wander, a practice in which she didn't often engage. She wished that Pam would stop brooding in the bedroom, and just talk to her. It had seemed like they should have both matured past the point in the relationship where they struggled to communicate.

And then, Tara heard the bathroom door open fully. She did her best not to react when the slight gust of air hit her bare spine through the doorless shower. She sensed the quickly dissolving gap between her body and that of her century-old maker. All of her senses alighted in awareness, but she did her level-best not to have a physical reaction, as she so often had, to the blonde vampire's presence.

Pam chuckled. The maker-progeny bond sizzled with her child's arousal, but Tara stubbornly refused to turn around. "You're getting way better at that," she remarked quietly, to the ebony-skinned back that refused to acknowledge her presence. "Not that great," Tara muttered after a few second, turning halfway. "You want the loofah mitt? Which, by the way, what the hell, you have a loofah mitt?" A smirk danced around the corners of upturned plump lips as Tara motioned at the pink, sudsy glove on her left hand.

"Don't mock. You're the one wearing the damn thing." Pam ignored the loofah mitt, stepped into the spacious shower, roomy enough for a party of twelve. The vast white marble of the bathroom was uninterrupted, but for a protruding wall that separated the shower fixtures from the double sink, upon which Tara's own discarded robe lay. The hot water pounding out of the dual shower-heads hit her immediately, but she kept moving closer to Tara, until the waterfall coming out of the ceiling also engulfed the pair of them. Pam's eyes shut, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around Tara's heated, slick body.

Her progeny sniffed, briefly clasping creamy hands, and then turned to fully face her maker. "Were you crying?" she asked softly, raising a hand to brush back wet flaxen hair from Pam's face. "It was nothing," Pam said, leaning into her child's touch. "Just glad that we are both still…here." "Mmmm," sighed Tara, and the two stood in silence for a few moments, both listening to the sound of the water crashing onto their bodies and the still-playing music.

Tara broke their silence, a smirk in her tone. "There seems to be a theme, you know, in the house. Lotta white in here. Guess Godric has a thing for the pale, huh?" She gestured to the walls with her un-loofah'd hand. "Yeah, I think he likes the illusion of purity," Pam said, turning her back to glance at the rest of the bathroom. Tara instinctively began to wash milky shoulders with a gentleness at odds with her taut, muscular arms. Pam's head fell back, a slight moan escaping her lips. "Wait, stop for a second." "What, what's wrong?" Tara stopped, withdrawing her hands. In a blur, Pam turned to face her, grabbing her hands. "No, don't stop touching me. I just wanted you—" she removed the pink sudsy glove from long, dark fingers and dropped it to the white stone floor—"to stop with that—"

And then, her lips were enveloped by dark pink ones, at first hurriedly, then with languorous strokes between dueling tongues. Tara, her owns eyes closing, let herself be lightly pushed towards the shower's far wall, and the kiss deepened. At some point, she opened them to find blue irises studying her, while two pairs of full lips continued to gently brawl for supremacy. Pulling her head away slightly, she remarked shyly, "You're lookin' at me like that again." Pam threw on a quick smirk. "Lookin' at you like what, baby?" "Sometimes, I catch you. You look at me like…" She sighed, pulling Pam close once more, leaning into her maker's neck and inhaling her scent. "You look at me like you're trying to memorize me, like I'm gonna leave you or something." The blonde vampire didn't speak at first, and the two just held one another for a time, hot water continuing to cascade over them.

The playlist ended, and the only sound in the bathroom was the water pouring out from the shower's three fixtures. "One day, you may leave," Pam said finally, as though she'd waited all that time to find the resolve to speak her mind with composure. "I can tell, you're going to go and find him." "Probably, but you're coming with me." Tara reached over and shut off the shower. "By the way, you know that I want to…well, you know. But after last time, I don't think either of us has the energy to do the damn thing justice."

At this recollection of the last time they'd had sex, Pam just barely managed to withhold a shiver, and could only have gotten away with it had Tara not chosen that exact moment to shoot her one of her trademark smoldering looks, that cut her right to the quick. "Fuck. No, you're right. But….fuck." The two vampires snickered in unison, and headed out of the shower, grabbing thick white towels from the wall-mounted rack to their right.

The last time was nearly a month prior. The intensity with which their mutual attraction slammed them into one another had broken a lot of furniture, and not for the first time. Pam, tousling her wet hair in the terry cloth, added, "And breaking my bed is NOT an option."

The bed in question was rather nice, Tara had to admit. Leaving the bathroom's cool slab flooring for the bedroom's warm pillowy carpet, she wrapped the towel around herself and took in the magnificent yet simple four-poster. Like the rest of the bedroom, it was draped in shades of pale pinkish-grey, from the bed linens to the coverings that tucked behind each corner of the bed's top. "Seriously, woman, you and _pink_."

"Well, I don't generally recall hearing you complain about my desire to wrap myself in pink," came a seductive whisper from behind her as Pam took a playful nip at her shoulder, fangs not fully distended.

The pair tumbled, spent from the long travel and lack of sleep, into the sheets. A quick glance at the wall clock told Tara that it was well after sunup, and the bleeds could hit them both at any time. But she'd resolved from the moment Godric had mentioned Sophie-Ann to ask Pam what all that was about, despite her maker's clear sensitivity on the subject. "So, listen…" Pam looked over at her with heavily lidded eyes. She hadn't fully realized how tired she was until she was laying down. "Hmmm?"

"I'm going to ask you about something, and I want you to be straight with me." Tara's tone made the elder woman sit up, blinking away her exhaustion. It was rare that her progeny insisted on conversations, and she'd learned early on that it was never worth the effort to fight her when she was determined as her expression now revealed. She shook her head slightly, as if to stave off her own tiredness, and asked, trying to keep exasperation out her voice, "What is it?"

Tara took a deep and unnecessary breath. "I want you to tell me about what happened with Sophie-Ann." This was, of course, exactly what Pam had been dreading in the back of her mind since the moment Godric mentioned the former queen's name in that morning's conversation, and in doing so thrust one of her secrets into the light in front of her progeny. She had known it was coming, but a part of her had thought, maybe even dared to hope, that she'd get some time before having to dive into this particular can of worms. She remained silent for a bit, silently fighting self-contempt and fury.

The younger vampire considered her maker, keenly able to sense the unspoken battle raging within Pam. She was too preoccupied to control her end of their link to one another, and so Tara was acutely aware that Pam would tell her this story before she ever opened her mouth. It took a few minutes, during which Tara tried to inconspicuously send a loving reminder through their bond that occasionally, relationship meant exposing parts of oneself that one would rather keep buried.

After a bit, Pam looked her progeny in the eye, and exhaled slowly. She remembered with disdain her grandfather's dig about being unable to appreciate affection, and recognized that it was all that Tara wanted from her. And she could give her child this. It wouldn't kill her. "Fine. But I don't want to have, like a conversation about it. I'll tell you what happened, and then we're going to bed. Agreed?" Nodding, Tara rolled over so that her head lay on a pale, perfectly flat stomach, her long dark hair fanning out over her naked lover. "Talk. I'm listenin'."

* * *

The day before Sophie-Ann and Pam met was especially memorable, because it was the day of her very first fight with Eric. In fact, that entire relationship may well have never happened, had it not been for the stupid falling-out.

It was not long after their run-in with Mercury. That experience in California had been Pam's first interaction with the vampire hierarchy, and she'd found it somewhat draining, so the pair took a year-long Scandinavian holiday to unwind. Eric always found it relaxing to be within a whiff of the North Sea, so they'd planned to spend most of their time in Norway. In Oslo, they'd done a quick favor for the vampire monarch in the area, and done away with a roving pack of troublemakers. As they dispatched the last vampire, Eric noted that this was probably the first nest that Pam had ever come into contact with.

"Is it? A nest, huh? The crazed wildness in their eyes did seem like a hint," Pam had replied, with her trademark acerbity. "Yes, well. Whenever you find a mate to settle down with, try not to make it a frequent habit to drink their blood. This—" Eric flung the last remnants of the recently deceased ringleader from his fingertips—"is what happens."

Pam hadn't spoken for a while. She had never really considered her undead life without Eric figuring in prominently. And from his tone, it seemed almost like one day he expected her to leave, maybe even looked forward to the prospect. Her first thought had been to combat his statement, with an assurance that she had no intentions of "settling down" with someone else, but for some reasons the words wouldn't come. So, she just didn't say much of anything to him. He noticed of course, but Eric seemed to realize that he'd unintentionally stirred a pot. He'd only meant that one day, she'd choose someone for herself, and he hoped for her to be able to make that choice on her own happiness, and her reaction had confused him. In rather trademark fashion, he had decided—or perhaps, hoped—that the thing would resolve itself.

It didn't.

A few days of silence later, the pair attended to a gathering at a local sheriff's home, a dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty named Beatrice. Also present was the future queen of Louisiana, Sophie-Ann herself. She'd had some familiarity with the former Viking, and came up to him almost immediately after he'd given Beatrice the obligatory greeting and thanks for her hospitality.

"Why, hello again," Sophie-Ann had breathed in Eric's ear moments after he'd left their host's company. "Who's your friend?" With no shame, she immediately began sizing Pam up. "This is my progeny. Pamela, this is Sophie-Ann." As these were the first words Eric had spoken to her in over three days, she reacted with more interest that she would have under normal circumstances. "Hello, why aren't you lovely," Pam purred. The future monarch immediately began to chat them up, and within minutes Eric had, with some hesitation, left the pair alone.

They talked for several hours, lounging next to one another on a couch in a slightly secluded corner of the ornate mansion. At first, things were intentionally over-sexualized. Pam supposed this might be in part because she was still trying to stick it emotionally to Eric. But once it became clear that her behavior was not affecting him, she allowed herself to get to know the striking woman who sat next to her. They had much more in common than expected, including a history in the arts of the flesh. She learned that early on, Sophie-Ann's vampire maker had forced her into prostitution in order to accrue fairly spectacular tracts of land throughout France. On the occasion of his death in the mid-1520s, she inherited all that, but immediately sold it and moved to Pam's old stomping grounds in London. In fact, she'd left within a year of Pam's human birth. They chatted about what they'd loved most about late-19th century London.

By the time dawn was on the approach, the pair became aware that they'd been sitting together for nearly seven hours. It had become a very relaxed affair, and when Eric came to collect his progeny, the eyeballing that he received in exchange for his interruption actually took him by surprise. "I don't mean to insist, but we are headed back to the United States tomorrow, and staying here might conflict with those plans." It was a lie that his progeny was expected to uphold, though given their frosty relations, he'd had his doubts. But Sophie-Ann surprised them both. "Oh, what the hell. Stay with me this morning, and we can all head out together. I've been summoned by the Authority, for some reason, so we can all travel together." Caught, and noticing that a grinning Pam had no intention of helping him out, Eric reluctantly agreed in order to save face, and the trio went to ground together. The next day, they all headed to Louisiana.

Upon their arrival, Sophie-Ann was promptly and rather unceremoniously handed her queenship, as a reward for several successful runs as sheriff of Nice and Manchester. Eric and Pam, still not speaking much unless absolutely necessary, were on hand for the impromptu "coronation," held in the private hangar of the fledging vampire-specific airline, Anubis. Afterwards, Sophie-Ann pulled Eric to the side, while Pam made small talk with a couple of chancellors from the Authority and several of the sheriffs in Louisiana.

"You know, one of my first acts as queen is going to be to appoint you sheriff. There's about three vacancies, especially once I have that prick Ashton assassinated. I don't suppose you'd be up for that," she queried suggestively. Eric considered her proposal for a moment, and then a thought of his sister Nora and her annoying political ambitions, and how proud Godric was of her, scampered across his mind. "Of course. Anything for my queen," he said slowly, holding her gaze as he gave a half-bow of compliance. "Yeah, ok, you can cut the shit. What will you want for doing this?" "Well, I'm going to want some time to settle my overseas affairs so that I can set up position here. It shouldn't take more than a few months, a year tops." "Hmm. Well. I suppose I can stand to let Ashton feel his oats for another year. Now, what are you going to want for Pamela?"

This question took him off guard. He'd been expecting to take Pam with him, and allow a bit more time to heal whatever was going on between them. Sophie-Ann's request, while posed conversationally, was clearly anything but. "Well, my queen, Pamela _is_ my progeny, but she can make her own decisions about where and with whom she would like to spend her time." His tone was stiff, and he glanced over at Pam, who was deep in conversation with a tall, ebony-skinned man he recognized from his chats with Nora about who was who in the Authority. _She certainly does have a knack for attracting powerful attentions_, he thought to himself, recalling his own introduction and attraction to the tall blonde.

"I was so hoping you'd say just that," trilled a jubilant queen, as she hastily made her way back over to Pam. Eric stayed put, unwilling or unable to move, he couldn't be certain. From his spot, he heard Sophie-Ann whisper into Pam's ear, a mischievous grin splayed across her features, "Your maker told me that I could ask you something. How would you like to be my royal consort?"

Pam looked shocked for a brief second, and turned a quick glance in Eric's direction. He kept a stony look of indifference glued to his face, determined that his progeny make whatever decision she thought might give her the best chance for happiness. For an even more fleeting moment, she seemed hurt, but as quickly as it appeared, that expression smoothed into her trademark cool veneer. "Well, let's give it a go, and see where things progress, hmm?"

Within two days, Eric was back in Europe, following through with his initial plan of eating and fucking through Scandinavia, though now his activities took on a decided air of attempted distraction. And Pam was set up as a kept woman in Sophie-Ann's newly built mansion, a rather breathtaking accomplishment. "Vampire contractors. They're paid exceedingly well, and there's a literal army of them," the queen had remarked as she escorted Pam to her personal chambers their first night alone together.

The two continued to get on well for several months. Pam had a remarkable brain, and in her human life before her move to San Francisco, she'd been well-trained in world literatures, and had been educated in archival methods and archaeology. Once she'd accepted her new, somewhat forced American life as a lady of the night, she'd been taken in early on by an elder madame whose establishment she would come to run. The long-dead Mrs. Tremble had taken note of her quick mind and soon began grooming her as a replacement. She'd picked up bookkeeping and accounting techniques, many of which had transformed and developed well after Eric found her. As such, the two women rarely ran out of things to talk about, and Pam began helping to put the finances of Sophie-Ann's vampire kingdom in a position to thrive. Meanwhile, the new queen was herself keenly fascinated by her new consort, and, though characterized by Godric as rather shallow and vapid, had a remarkable capacity for kindness and a genuine fondness for nature and life that was particularly remarkable given that she was a nearly 500-year-old vampire.

They would spend hours relishing in one another's mind, wandering about the vast estate, and delighting in one another's bodies. Each woman, having spent so much time being physically and sexually abused by men, held a longstanding natural preference for the female form, and the fact that they were so alike made their love-making innate and breathtaking, no small feat for vampires. But Sophie-Ann, for all her admitted flightiness, was a rather perceptive creature. She was able to sense how the bond between Eric and Pam, though damaged somewhat, continued to hum.

And so, one day, she asked Pam about her maker, only to meet an icy brick wall. "I'd rather not talk about that," she'd responded coldly to Sophie-Ann. Moments later, she'd excused herself to her own chambers. As she and the queen shared a wall, the quiet sobbing that marked much of the next few hours did not go unnoticed.

For several days, the two kept their distance. Pam tried to get herself under control, reminding herself constantly that the bond between she and Eric was stronger than any misunderstanding, and that at some point, they would rekindle things. Sophie-Ann, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how to protect herself. She didn't take kindly to competition, and she'd been having so much fun being around Pamela that it had never occurred to her that the bond between she and her maker was still intact. She'd known plenty of other vampires who continued to keep company with their progeny, even after granting them independence. That Eric had not yet released Pam struck a chord with the new queen, and hurt her deeply.

When Pam finally did get the nerve to face Sophie-Ann again, she was too late. She returned from a night-time hunt, ready to make a lusty, blood-fueled apology to her new lover, only to find her luggage packed, with a note tucked in the pocket of one of her bags, and a message delivered in person by the queen's personal bodyguard that she wasn't seeing visitors anymore that evening. Arrangements had been made to get her to the airport and to northern Sweden, where Eric was staying with yet another vampire monarch.

* * *

"I was on the plane, about to read this note where she tried to explain that she couldn't and wouldn't compete with my maker for my affections, but I couldn't even open it to see her rejection. I'd never been rejected in my vampire life, and rarely in my human one. It was miserable. When Eric and I reunited, we just never talked about what had happened. He took me back like I'd been on a spa vacation or somethin'." Pam had been staring at her child's hair splayed out across her legs, playing with the bare skin of her back, for much of her story, intentionally looking past Tara's face, hoping not to meet her eyes and lose her nerve in exposing this degree of vulnerability. Tara, in her first movement since Pam began, sat up, and lifted her maker's chin so that the pair looked each other full in the face.

She didn't speak at first, mulling over a story that had presented nearly as many questions about the older vampire as had been answered. Pam took the opportunity to make an apology that had been eighteen months in the making.

"I haven't ever said anything, because I never even read the letter until just before we got back from Sweden after I had saved Eric's ass from frying. We were just sittin' on the plane, waiting' for take-off, and I realized that the bag I hadn't used for nearly fifty years was the bag I packed. And the note was just…sittin' there, and so I finally opened it. And I felt horrible, because I realized that I'd been harboring all this resentment for someone, and really I was so preoccupied with my maker that I'd given no thought to the other side of things, to what might have been with someone who genuinely cared for me. She wasn't really so bad until after we stopped seein' each other, and then she kind of turned into a sadistic bitch. I…I have to take responsibility for some of that." Tara had the graciousness not to say anything, but for a moment, she forgot how insightful their maker-progeny bond could be. "And so, I never mentioned it to you, because yes, I realize that I've made this same mistake more than once." At this, Pam pulled her closer, and locked her gaze, losing herself deep into those dark orbs that tried but failed to conceal a pang of hurt. "But most importantly, I did it to you. Over and over again, after we escaped the fucking Authority, when I left for him after that stupid camp… I do love him, and he does occupy a place in my heart that no one else can. But so do you. You have no competition, because you are _mine_. I was once his, and so he'll always be my maker. But you…baby, you are _mine_. And the rules are just different when it comes to you."

In an instant, the cruelty and bitterness that had characterized so much of their early relationship seemed to melt away. The blame and guilt that Pam had been harboring for the past couple of years, that she'd made the same mistakes with Tara as she had with Sophie-Ann, had finally begun to accept the crucial difference: Tara was who she was because of Pam. Pam was her maker, and the full realization of that fact seemed hit them both like a tidal wave. Tara in that moment recognized, from the look in those cerulean eyes and the emotions slamming into her chest from their bond, that Pam and Eric's relationship just wasn't what it used to be. They would always be connected, but Pam had made a choice to love her, even if doing so meant the detriment of her own maker. She had chosen her child over her father, and had been making that choice unbeknownst to either Tara or Eric for quite some time.

Sensing her child's comprehension, Pam wanted to, needed to make sure that she fully understood. "That is why I came back. Not for him, or because he wanted to. Frankly, he thought that he'd lost his sister to that town, and his father not far from it. I honestly think he'd have been content to stay up on that fucking mountain forever. But I needed to come back to you, and he didn't want me to do it alone. That we ran into Godric once we did come back was really just icing on the cake, when you think about it. Eric came back to Bon Temps out of his love for me. I came because I love you."

Tara had been quiet for a while, but she finally spoke. "Ya know, tonight I found out more about you that I have in the past coupla years," she said slowly, trying to send more love into Pam, but looking away so as not overwhelm her. "And there's still a lot about you that I don't know, that I _wanna_ know. But, I guess, thanks, for trusting me with what you have. I know it's hard for you, and it's a big deal for you to feel…exposed, even in front of me. It means a lot to me." These last words were punctuated by a gentle kiss.

"While you were telling' that story, I kinda couldn't help being reminded of the furious warrior that you sorta evoked a few times during this whole Hep-V bullshit. On a couple of occasions, me and Willa, or me and Jess would run into a crazy-ass band of roving, sickly, crazed vamps. And you know me, you know I can hold my own, generally speakin'. But a couple of times, I could sense that I was paintin' myself into a stupid corner, and then there would just be this crazy blur of wild energy and then all of sudden, everyone'd be lyin' around, dead puddles of goo. And you'd be standing there, acting as annoyed as if you'd just broken a nail or somethin'. But the power that would cascade off of you…it was like you fucked them up at will because they'd done something to you personally. And I guess…like, I understood it then, but I _get_ it now. They had. They'd fucked with me. And I guess it's nice to know exactly when and how that became such a personal thing for you."

The honesty and frankness of her child's words were nothing compared to the pronounced surge of love Tara was feeling for Pam. In one conversation, it was as though they had undone the many layers and barriers that still lay between them in their relationship, and it filled both maker and progeny with more than either could express. It was long past dawn, and while stronger than most vampires, Tara was still a baby vamp, and truly could no longer keep her eyes open. But even in her dazed fog, she grasped at and held close the woman who had long ago become a kind of reason for her living.

The pair held one another in sleep, but the embrace radiated with reassurance, with tenderness, and with a suffusive affection that spread out from the slumbering women. Indeed, it impacted Pam so deeply that it leapt into the bonds that she had with many others. Of course, Tara could sense everything that Pam felt, even as she drifted off to sleep, but it filled her body with a carnal need for her maker, and she unconcsciously pulled the blonde woman closer to her, as the sun outside their darkened rooms climbed ever higher into the morning sky.

It touched her maker, Eric, who was still caught in the thrust of the passionate sex he was in the midst of sharing with Nora. The flood of sensation caught him off-guard, for he hadn't felt this much of Pamela for a long time. The pair had renewed their bond only the night before, immediately before that fateful meeting in DC. As they re-exchanged blood with one another, reviving that long-missed relationship to the most complete status that it could achieve, now that Pam had a child of her own, he'd seen something different in his own child's eyes. He'd missed his smart, heartless Pam, but in that moment when her joy and happiness crashed into his chest, he recognized what he'd long suspected. She wasn't just _his_ Pam anymore: she belonged to someone else. As these realities of their new bond sparked to life, he stopped his fervent thrusting for half a second, relishing the warmth coming from his child and smiling at the fact that she'd finally come to her senses.

It touched her blood sister, Willa, who had been comatose for some hours. She'd passed out immediately upon entering her own room, which she'd been allowed to pick out herself, since it was clear from the moment they had decided to come Farthing-End that Pam and Tara would probably be sharing chambers with one another. Before sleeping, she'd discovered a hidden refrigerator full of fancy blood, with labelled names and dates that meant absolutely nothing to her. She'd gorged on several and then passed out somewhat drunkedly immediately afterwards, forgetting to even change out of her traveling clothes. When Pam's pleasure and delight hit her, she was in the midst of dreaming of a beautiful but faceless vampire she'd been chasing through a field. She felt like she was always so close to catching him, but each time, he would speed away, being much faster that she was. Then all of a sudden, she saw her sister's face, with a rare but broad smile, and stopped running. "You don't need to chase what was yours all along, little sister," Pam's voice echoed in her mind. Smiling in her sleep, Willa turned over, while in her head, the handsome vampire suddenly appeared right behind her, emerald eyes taking her in and adoring her, plump lips kissing her deeply.

And it touched Pam's firstborn son. Feeling both his sister and mother, the young man is sent to his knees in his own darkened room. He has just taken a ritualistic, tear-filled shower, for on this night, having been so long since last he fed, he accidentally killed one of his victims. So, tear-drained from a torrent of existential pain that had so long fed the inner turmoil between his vampire self and a decidedly human nature, he leaves the bathroom for his bed, only to be rocked by the waves of powerful emotion surging out from his blood. Clutching his chest, he falls mere feet from the small cot, overwhelmed by how strongly he has felt someone else's emotions for the second time in a day. He curses his lot, and pulls himself into bed, blood tears marking sentiments not his own wetting his cheeks.

* * *

Meanwhile, someone is crouched calmly and unmoving just beyond the boundaries of the family's compound. Lurking in the bushes of an especially low valley is a young man, alone, clad in a thick black leather bodysuit and a dark motorcycle helmet. Inside the lightproof garments, deep green eyes look out toward the sprawling manor.

"Just inside awaits your vengeance," the man mutters, sighing needlessly. He has been hunting the Viking for months. And he must now call upon all the patience that he'd accrued in a century and a half on this earth to not speed his way onto the property and take out the revenge that he'd sought for so long.

Making a mental note of his exact position, he stands, and sped off in the other direction. Nearly a half mile from his vantage point sits a parked black matte Ducati, on which he jumps, and speeds off. He would come back, he decided. _One doesn't go fishing with dynamite in a barrel,_ the nameless vampire thought to himself, _unless one seeks to end up as dead as one's parents._


End file.
